


Bring It Back

by metal_eye



Series: Songfics [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Religious Guilt, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-26
Updated: 2010-05-26
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metal_eye/pseuds/metal_eye
Summary: "The sun must have been setting, because I remember a burning orange taking over the couch, taking it by surprise, when your head turned up from its hand and you asked me if I believed in fate."Sundown on a freeway is no place for goodbyes.





	Bring It Back

**Author's Note:**

> "Forgive my mouth for not letting you walk away" - "Bring it Back", Kris Allen. Still one of the best lyrics of all time.

The sun must have been setting, because I remember a burning orange taking over the couch, taking it by surprise, when your head turned up from its hand and you asked me if I believed in fate.  
  
I turned it into another question. I had to. The implications were huge. The situation was small – at least, so far.

 _What do you mean by fate?_ I asked, curious.  
  
And you – you said, _I had always thought that God had a hand in everything, except that things have happened that can’t be dictated by any God, and I feel blasphemous for saying so, but it’s more like fate than God, I’m almost sure._  
  
I said, _Well, fate is just another name for God, really._  
  
You said, so matter-of-fact, _Well, if it’s God making me feel this, then he’s a sadistic bastard. Because I thought I had life all figured out. And now the fact that I love you like this is going to fuck everything up. It already has. God, I don’t want things to change._  
  
One phrase stood out for me. _Love me like…?_ Then I stopped.

There was fear in your eyes, as if to say, well, there it is. The naked truth.  
  
I said we would have to go to bed. We needed to sleep this off. We were in the middle of a five-show run. Even the tour management was balking. Work before wonder, I quipped, getting up.  
  
You told me to wait.

I turned around. Nothing good could come of this.

Sure enough, your face was in front of mine, suddenly, and you must have stood on your tiptoes to reach, but you let out a breath – hot dirty breath, like a dragon – and then you kissed me, sudden and implicit, like some kind of wet, warped fairytale.  
  
Except didn’t feel like a fairytale. It felt like fear. Our lips, tentative, were dry with it.  
  
_What are you doing,_ I said, when it was over.  
  
_Not letting you walk away,_ you said.  
  
_Walk away from what?_  
  
_From this._  
  
_Kris—_  
  
_Please stay?_  
  
It sounded like begging, like desperation, but whatever fear I had seen earlier had drained out of your eyes. They were brown now, and completely calm.  
  
I knew then, upon seeing them, that this was dangerous. _We_ were dangerous.  
We would eventually sleep curled up on the couch that night, awkward but comfortable, your hair getting caught in my lips. And as happy as it made me, I knew I would have to break it off. Because you, you _wouldn’t._ It wasn’t real to you yet; you were just pawing at love like a puppy but couldn’t understand how it could ruin us, our careers, our chance at anything easy.  
  
But at that moment, weakly, all I did was palm your cheek, say _okay,_ and smile.  



End file.
